Godless
by Qweb
Summary: Everyone's writing tags for episode 10, but it's episode 7 that's still bugging me. In the wake of a terrible accident, Danny Williams meets a hospital chaplain who wants to help. Can a man have a crisis of faith, if he says he doesn't believe at all?
1. Apocalypse

_Author's Note: This was inspired by Danny's words in Season 2 episode 7, Ka Iwi Kapu, the Halloween episode. So, if you don't want spoilers for that episode, read no further.  
><em>_I couldn't believe that Danny said of religion, "People make stuff up to make themselves feel better." Sorry? This is the same man who made the sign of the cross over Steve in the episode immediately before this one and who gave Kono a religious medal for her graduation? This is a man who named his daughter Grace! To me, these indications of religious feeling mean that Danny denies God from a place of pain, not from philosophical reasoning. And you know I love to take Danny to places of pain.  
><em>_So, expect religious debate to come, even cursing at God. A little blasphemy just in time for Christmas. Go figure. Though I am a church-going person myself, I believe I can express Danny's anti-religion point of view._

**Godless**

**Chapter 1 – Apocolypse**

Grace Williams was an obedient girl. She didn't run out in the street, even when she saw her father's Camaro parked on the opposite side. She waited on the corner for the light to change, right in the path of the car that missed the turn and plowed into the crowd of children waiting there. Her father watched in horror.

Danny Williams was a police officer. He had been the first responder at accident scenes before. Training and experience clicked in, erecting a wall that the frightened father yammered behind.

As he jumped from his car, Danny was already calling 9-1-1.

"There are …" He counted quickly. "…At least six victims." _Grace!__God,__Grace!_"We need multiple ambulances." He ran first for the car. Its engine was still revving, tires still smoking, though it was nose first against the building, high-sided on a planter. Danny yanked the door open and shoved back the driver to turn off the key and prevent the car from lurching loose. The detective checked the driver. He was already dead, face congested. Probably a massive heart attack, Danny thought.

_Saves__me__from__having__to__kill__him__myself._The detective ruthlessly shoved the daddy back behind his wall. A mother was shrieking like a calliope beside her dead son. Danny pushed her into the arms of a calmer bystander and put the bystander's jacket over the boy's shattered head.

_Kevin.__His__name__was__Kevin.__Grace__liked__him.__I__liked__him._Shut up! Danny told himself savagely. I don't have time now! While he covered another body, an adult, this time, the detective directed help for four injured children. Then, at last, he dropped to his knees beside the injured 9-year-old girl who lay so still.

_Grace!_ The daddy sobbed. "Grace," the detective said fearfully.

The child didn't respond. She was unconscious but breathing. Danny couldn't tell how badly she was hurt, though her arm was obviously broken, the bone poking out through the skin. He applied gentle pressure, trying to stop the ooze of blood without moving the fracture.

EMTs arrived in four ambulances. They rattled off vital statistics, numbers flying over Danny's head along with words like head trauma and internal injuries.

A patrol officer took notes about the accident. Danny answered on autopilot, his attention on the EMTs working on his daughter.

"I've gotta go," he said, as they lifted Grace into the back of the ambulance. Danny climbed in with them, not taking his eyes off the injured girl.

Before the door closed, Danny half-heard the principal talking to the officer. "I don't know what we would have done without Detective Williams. He was so calm. He's a hero."

The hero followed his daughter into the hospital, filled out the forms shoved into his hands and took a seat in the surgery waiting area. Danny spoke only when spoken to and went silently where directed. Anyone who knew him would have realized this was unnatural, but no one there knew him.

Danny sat, eyes fixed on the doors where he'd last seen Grace. The detective and daddy crashed together, helpless to act. Danny sat, frozen in fear. Frozen and alone.

* * *

><p>The rest of Five-0 was still at work back at headquarters. Danny had left early to pick up his daughter. He had left early every day this week while his ex-wife was out of town, but Lori Weston didn't think that was a violation worth reporting to the governor. Steve had called it comp time the one time she'd mentioned it. The glower he'd given her hadn't encouraged her to bring it up again. She hadn't meant anything by it, really. She was an investigator. Asking questions was a habit.<p>

But, really, she understood. They all worked crazy hours and the divorced detective didn't get to see his daughter nearly enough. All too often, he was called to work on his day with Grace. Like on Halloween night, Lori remembered. Come to think of it, maybe that's why he was so stubborn about searching the heiau, because he was pissed about being taken away from his daughter.

And it's not like Five-0 was actually busy right now, Lori thought. They were cleaning up some paperwork from their last case. Steve was waiting to go to a meeting with the governor. To tell the truth, Lori was bored. She flicked a computer screen to an all-news channel while she filled out reports.

* * *

><p>The patrol officer entered Five-0 headquarters with trepidation. He was glad to see Chin Ho Kelly in the war room because he knew Kelly from his time at HPD and because, frankly, Steve McGarrett scared him a bit.<p>

"Excuse me, lieutenant."

"Kahikina, isn't it?" Chin said pleasantly. "What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted you to let Detective Williams know that he doesn't have to worry about his car. Even though it's in a one-hour zone, everyone knows what happened. No one's going to give it a ticket. He can pick it up anytime." The officer's words stuttered to a standstill, halted by the blank look on Chin's face.

McGarrett rounded on the young man. "What? What's this about Danny's car? What happened?" he demanded.

Kahikina couldn't believe they didn't know. "The accident at the school?"

Steve, Chin and Kono looked baffled, but news junkie Lori gasped. The others spun to see her face had gone white. "The news report. A car ran into a bunch of kids just getting out of school. That was Danny's daughter's school? I didn't know."

The three spun back to face the officer, who had mustered his sad notification manner.

"Grace?" Steve demanded.

"On her way to the hospital," Kahikina said. "The driver apparently had a heart attack and lost control of his car. The driver, one boy and an adult woman were dead at the scene. Five kids were injured, including Detective Williams' daughter. I don't know how bad," he said, forestalling that question.

"Where did they take her?" Kono demanded.

"I don't know." He held up his hands to stop the outburst he could see coming. "They spread the kids out to three hospitals, I don't know which one Williams' went to. I'm sorry."

Steve had his phone out, punching the contact button.

At the hospital, Danny's phone vibrated. The distraught detective took it out, but then seemed to forget what it was for. He sat with it dangling from his lax hand.

"Chin," Steve said tightly.

"On it." Chin was already at the smart table tracing Danny's phone.

"The people at the scene said Detective Williams was a hero. He kept everything under control until units arrived," the officer said. "Then he went with his daughter in the ambulance."

"Why didn't he call?" Kono asked, worry lacing her words.

If Danny didn't call, it had to be bad.

"Honolulu General," Chin reported.

The four Five-0 officers started to run out, then Steve remembered. "Damn, the governor." He thrust his hand through his hair in frustration. "Lori, will you take that?" he asked, eyes pleading.

The others had all known Danny longer. They all knew Grace. They needed to go. Danny wouldn't miss her, Lori thought realistically. She stopped and nodded. "Yeah. I'll talk to the governor, Steve. I'll tell him what happened. He'll understand."

"Thanks." Then the Five-0 originals left the new girl behind.

"Call me?" she shouted after them plaintively.

Chin waved agreement as they disappeared out the door.

* * *

><p>Frantic questioning at the hospital led the detectives to their friend.<p>

"Danny!" Steve's exclamation combined relief, worry and exasperation all at once. "Man, why didn't you call us?"

Danny didn't respond, didn't seem to notice his friends.

"Danny?" Steve's hand dropped on his shoulder. When that drew no response, Steve crouched in front of Danny, intercepting that vacant stare. Danny blinked to have his view of the all-important door blocked; then he realized who was blocking it.

"Steve?" His puzzled voice sounded rusty with disuse.

"Danny, why didn't you call us?" Steve said gently. "You don't have to go through this alone."

"Call?" Danny asked, as if he'd never heard the word before.

Kono sat beside her friend and touched his cheek. "Steve, he feels like ice. I think he's in shock."

Rage bubbled up in Steve's eyes like lava in Kilauea. "He's sitting in a damned hospital in shock and no one notices?"

He went to the nurse's station and demanded a blanket.

"Here," said a calm voice behind him. A woman held out a folded blue blanket. In her other hand she held a steaming Styrofoam cup.

Steve couldn't place her. In her late 40s, with shoulder-length dark hair going gray, the woman wore civilian clothes. Her demure light blue blouse had just one button open at the neck and her sedate dark blue skirt reached her knees. Her shoes were sensible flats. She wasn't a doctor or a nurse, but she was helpful, so Steve was glad to see her.

"At least someone was paying attention," Steve said, throwing a dirty look at the nurses.

"They were paying attention. They called me," the woman said, as she walked with Steve back to Danny. "Patients are their job. Families of patients are mine. I'm the hospital chaplain, Reverend Jan Matheson."

"Reverend," Steve acknowledged. He put the blanket around Danny's shoulders and put the cup of coffee in Danny's icy fingers. For a moment he hesitated to release the cup, for fear Danny's lax hands would drop it, but then Danny's fingers tightened around it, as if seeking the warmth.

Steve sent Kono a message with his eyes. She nodded and put her hand on the cup, steadying it and guiding it to Danny's lips, urging him to take a sip. On the other side, Chin put his arm around Danny's shoulders, holding the blanket in place and offering the warmth of his presence.

Steve stepped aside with the minister and introduced himself and his team.

"I've been told that Detective Williams' daughter is in surgery after having been hit by a runaway car," Jan said. "I came to ask if he would like to wait in my office. It's more comfortable there and we won't disturb the patients if there's yelling."

Steve scratched his head. "Yelling? Do you know my partner?"

Jan smiled. "No, but when parents see a well-loved child hurt, there's often yelling and cursing God. If it helps them to have someone to yell at, I'm the woman they want."

Jan saw tears in the tall commander's eyes. "Grace is Danny's life. When his ex got remarried, he left the rest of his family in New Jersey and moved to Hawaii to be near her." That reminded him. "Dammit! Sorry," he apologized to the minister, then turned back to his stricken friend.

"Danny, did you call Rachel?"

The detective's blue eyes still seemed glazed. "Rachel?"

"Never mind, pal, I'll do it." Steve thumbed Rachel's contact number on his own phone. He got a recording that the customer was out of range. The call went to voice mail, but he didn't leave a message. What could he say that wouldn't frighten her half to death. It would be bad enough for her to see his number on the missed calls.

"Rachel and Stan are in Denver." The voice was still creaky, but Steve rejoiced to hear sensible words from his friend. "Grace and I tried to call last night, but there was no service," Danny continued, tears welling up when he mentioned his daughter. "They had a blizzard in Denver. Might have knocked out the cell tower."

"Glad to have you back, Danny," Chin said in relief.

Danny wasn't so glad. The warmth of the blanket and his friends was thawing him, but that brought back all the horror.

"God, Steve, the kids were flung in the air like toys. I saw … I saw Grace …" Tears ran down his face and he couldn't continue.

"Why don't you come to my office," Jan suggested. "It's more private there."

Steve gestured toward the chaplain's office. Chin nodded. He and Kono ushered their Jersey friend in that direction. He only protested a little, still too shocked to work him into a full rant.

Steve touched the minister's sleeve, so they fell behind the others.

"Reverend."

"Jan," she corrected.

"Jan, Danny's a good man, but not a spiritual person. He told me once that he doesn't believe in God. He said people make things up to make themselves feel better. I don't know if that makes a difference to you, but I thought you should know."

Jan touched Steve's arm in reassurance. "Commander."

"Steve."

"Steve, it doesn't matter. Many of the people I talk to here are angry with God because they've been hurt or someone they love is in pain, maybe dying. If I can help Danny I will, even if it's only getting him a cup of coffee or giving him someone to yell at. I don't help people because they're religious. I help them because I'm religious," she said serenely.

**To be continued**


	2. Belief

_For extended author's notes, see Chapter 1. There will be religious debate in this chapter, even cursing at God. (OK, it's a Danny rant.) If this offends, move on to another story. I don't know if any hospitals have fulltime chaplains anymore, but this one does. I don't know if I represent the views of the Catholic Church fairly, but this is Danny's possibly biased point of view. I don't guarantee I've captured the Methodist party line, either, even though I am one. We're just exploring the topic here. You have been warned._

**Godless**

**Chapter 2 - Belief**

Moving his legs seemed to get Danny's mind moving again. Wrapped in the blanket and flanked by Chin and Kono, Danny frowned around the hospital chaplain's office as his friends ushered him to a seat on a comfortable couch. There was a small desk, several comfortable chairs and shelves full of books, at least three of which were Bibles.

Anger sparked in Danny's eyes. Anger was so much more comfortable than paralyzing parental fear.

"Who are you?" he demanded, when Steve and Jan came in.

"Danny …!" Steve protested, but Jan silenced him with a touch on his arm.

"I'm Chaplain Matheson. You can call me Jan."

Danny transferred his stony gaze to Steve. "I'm insensitive when I don't fall in line with other people's beliefs, but it's OK to ignore mine!"

He stood as if to leave, dropping the blanket in Kono's lap.

"Danny!" Steve pleaded.

"What? The insensitive haole's just not good enough? You want to use my time of weakness to pry open my head and pour different beliefs inside? Force me to change the way I think? Grace might be dying and you're pushing me at a minister. Is that why you came?" Danny was ashamed of himself, even as he yelled at his friend. He was ashamed to realize he wanted to start a fight. He'd rather rage than dwell on his fear for his daughter.

"Please, detective," Jan said. "I'm not trying to sell anything. I'm not trying to change you. We don't have to talk at all. The nurses will tell the doctor you're in here. My chairs are more comfortable than the waiting room and my coffee maker is much better than the vending machine."

Danny looked down at the Styrofoam cup still in his hand. The coffee was half gone already and it had been good, he realized, though he'd hardly noticed at the time. He looked back at the minister. Her kindly eyes and calm, confident bearing reminded him of his favorite aunt. Maybe it would be OK if she didn't preach at him. He couldn't listen to prattle about God's goodness when God had just played the cruelest joke of all on his daughter.

Danny sat down again. Somehow he and Jan had come to an understanding without saying a word, but Steve didn't understand that.

"Danny," Steve said gently. "I know what you gave up to help me when I was in prison. You stood by me when I needed it. That's why we're here, to be with you. The reverend is just giving us a little privacy out of Christian charity."

The minister nobly refrained from face-palming herself. Sometimes helpful friends and relatives just made things worse.

"Christian charity!" Danny exploded. "I've heard the stupid things Christians say," he jeered angrily. The words poured out of him in a torrent of pain. "'Everything happens for a reason.' A reason! Tell me the reason a man had a heart attack and ran his car into a crowd of school kids? Tell me why a boy, a nice boy named Kevin, had his head splattered like a pumpkin right in front of his mother's eyes. She was standing right next to him but the car missed her. It didn't touch her, but she stood screaming, screaming, screaming over her dead son. Is there a reason for that!" he screamed. "Is there a reason my baby is in the operating room instead of doing her homework at my place? If there's a reason for this, then God is a sadistic son of a bitch!"

"Danny!" Kono breathed. She was shocked by his blasphemy, but more shocked by the suffering on his face.

"And what's the other one," Danny continued, more quietly but more bitterly. "'God will never give you more than you can bear'? That is such bunk. I've seen so many broken people, I know that's not true. I know…" His voice caught in a sob. "I know I can't bear losing my daughter. I tell you I'll never attend Grace's funeral," he vowed.

Steve realized Danny meant he'd kill himself.

"Danny," he pleaded. He put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

Danny shook free, gaining his feet in a convulsive movement that left him swaying. When Steve would have followed, Danny moved another step away. Steve was left uncertain. He dropped his disregarded outstretched hand. He felt helpless.

Danny's face was set in decision, a stone carving of grief.

"I understand, Danny. No, I do," Jan answered Danny's look of skepticism. "I had a daughter. She was born with cystic fibrosis. She never drew a breath that wasn't painful. I used to have to beat her, pound on her back, to clear her lungs. She was a month short of her fifth birthday when she died."

"And you still believe?" Danny asked incredulously.

"How could I not? How could I not believe that my little angel has gone to a better place? A place without pain. How could I believe that her beauty, her patient spirit, have evaporated into nothingness? She taught me so much in her short life. She brought me such joy. To deny God would be to deny her. Yes, I had to let her go too soon, but I'm grateful I had her. My belief helped me through. I prayed for her every day of her life. I still do, but now I pray thanks. If you like, we could pray for Grace."

"No!"

Danny's denial so frantic, Steve reached out for him. Danny slapped his friend's hand away. He backed against the wall, panting as if he'd been in a race from death. "No! No praying. Anytime… anytime I prayed for something important, the answer was No."

Danny remembered praying for his grandfather unable to breathe after a stroke, who suffocated to death in front of his eyes before the paramedics could arrive. He had prayed for his marriage that had failed, for a childhood friend who had joined the Army and come home in a coffin, for a fellow officer shot in the line of duty. Prayer hadn't helped. Prayer had never helped.

"Anytime I prayed for people, they died! I won't do that to Grace! I can't!" the distraught man pleaded for understanding.

"Danny, that's superstition, not religion," Chin said with quiet sympathy.

"What's the difference?" Danny yelled. "One baseball player crosses himself before throwing a pitch. Another player always wears his wristbands inside out. What's the difference?"

"You must think God's is listening to you, if you think he's saying, No," Steve observed.

"If God is listening, he doesn't want to hear from me," Danny said bitterly.

"Tell me why you think that," Jan said, patting the arm of the chair next to her desk.

Danny knew he was being a coward, but if he focused on this nice woman, he didn't have to think about surgeons slicing open his child. He wrenched his thoughts back to the discussion and slipped into the chair.

"I don't believe. I did when I was a kid. But I've seen too much, too much inhumanity to think that God gives a damn," he explained. "I grew up in the Catholic Church. We weren't a super-religious family, but we attended on Sundays and the Holy Days of Obligation. When I became a cop, my hours were strange and, yes, I got lazy. So mostly when I went I was busy confessing that I hadn't attended regularly.

"Then I got married to a girl who wasn't a Catholic, wasn't even baptized. Rachel's parents were 'free thinkers.' The priests disapproved. They said the marriage wasn't 'valid.' I said 'screw this' and walked away."

"There are other churches," the Methodist minister said gently.

"Every one with its own interpretation of God," Danny scoffed. "If we can interpret God, isn't that the same as inventing God?"

"It may be that we simply don't understand him, Danny. People interpret paintings differently, but that doesn't mean the painting doesn't exist," Jan argued.

Danny just shook his head.

"Was that the reason you lost faith? When you felt the church turned its back on you?"

"No."

"Was it the job, then?" Jan probed. "I've seen it before in police officers and doctors and military personnel, people who see the worst of humanity."

Danny fixed his eyes on his hands, rubbing slowly back and forth between his knees. His voice was low when he answered. "I was a homicide detective in New Jersey. I closed 87 cases. Do you know what that means? That means more than 100 dead bodies. You have to build a wall to protect yourself, maybe I walled out God, too.

"It's just … some of the things I've seen. I can't believe … How can you say God cares when such things happen?" He met Jan's eyes, while avoiding the disappointment he expected to see in his friends' faces. "I was at 9/11," he said baldly. "I've seen drug war massacres and gang battles. I saw a fellow detective's head blown off not a foot away from me. Those were bad, but it's the little cases that haunt me, the pointless, senseless killings. A teenage boy killed for the swoosh on his sneakers. A woman beaten to death because her husband said she burned dinner, and it wasn't burned at all. A soldier just back from Iraq killed in a carjacking. They all took away a piece of my faith."

He smiled fondly. "I got a little back when my daughter was born." _No, __don__'__t __think __of __Grace. __Not __now._ "But then my wife filed for divorce. So now I'm doubly damned by the church," he said bittterly.

**To be continued**

_I know. strange place to break it, but it needed to break somewhere. Next time a resolution of sorts._


	3. Amen

_Yes, still more religious debate and a resolution._

**Godless**

**Chapter 3 - Amen**

Danny sounded exhausted. Kono wanted to put her arms around him, but was afraid to spoil the flow of words that, maybe, seemed to be helping her friend.

"I think the last straw was the 6-month-old baby shotgunned in her crib by her father. He wanted to die and thought it was his right, his duty to take the rest of his family with him." Remembered nausea was evident in Danny's voice.

"Didn't you ever see good things?" the minister asked. "No spontaneous acts of kindness?"

"Yes," Danny acknowledged. "I saw neighbors take in orphans, a teenage boy who sacrificed his life to save two little girls he didn't even know. Even 9/11 — people came from everywhere to help after 9/11."

"A lot of those people came from churches," Jan commented. "And I've seen a lot of work teams organized to help after disasters — 9/11, Haiti, Katrina."

Danny nodded. "I've seen a church open its doors to a Muslim congregation burned out of their mosque by a hate crime. I never said churches were bad. Churches do a lot of good in the community — food pantries, homeless shelters."

Jan shook her head in amazement. "You surprise me," she said. "I've met people who believe in God, but not in organized religion; but you're the first person I've met who believes in churches, but not God."

Danny met her eyes. "I believe that good and evil are in people, not in God and the Devil. Churches are just another nonprofit to me. They help a lot of people just like the Red Cross and Little League."

"Steve told me you said 'people make up things to make themselves feel better.'"

Danny gave Steve a reproachful look for betraying his trust. His partner looked abashed. "I never told anyone else," he said. The astonished expressions on Chin and Kono's faces bore out his claim. "I just thought Jan ought to know."

Danny hung his head, sure that he had been diminished in his friends' eyes. "I can't believe in a higher power, not one that cares and watches over us. I've seen men and women killed for the most stupid, paltry reasons. I've seen the body of a 3-year-old killed by her own mother. The body was left where feral dogs half tore it apart and where two 12-year-old boys stumbled across it — literally. If that's God guiding our every move, I don't want any part of him." He glanced sidelong at the cousins. "I'm sorry."

Kono just reached over to hug him. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"I can't believe you don't believe," Kono said. "You gave me a religious medal for my graduation."

"I didn't say I wasn't superstitious," Danny answered.

Chin said affectionately, "It's OK, brah. You're wrong, just like you're wrong about pineapple on pizza, but we love you anyway."

"Your pain is our pain, brother." Steve stood behind Danny's chair with his hands on his friend's shoulder.

The minister said, "I don't subscribe to the 'everything happens for a reason' philosophy, Danny. But everything that happens makes us who we are. Every triumph and tragedy leads us on a path to our future life — but we choose our own path, Danny," Jan said emphatically. "We can fight or we can surrender. We can turn to God or turn away. You can become a horrible example or a positive role model. I could have chosen death when my daughter died, but I claimed life. Now you have that choice."

"You know she's right, Danny. Look at us," Kono said. "If you hadn't gotten divorced, you'd never have come to Hawaii. If I hadn't blown out my knee, I'd never have become a cop."

"If I hadn't been kicked out of HPD, I'd never have joined Five-0," Chin added.

Steve was nodding. "I told you once, partner, that the death of my mother made me who I am. And the death of my father brought me home." He shook his head. "Five-0 was built on tragedy. And deceit," he muttered to himself. "But look at all the lives we've saved. Look at the ohana we've built. Danny, we're your friends. Don't push us away now."

"Maybe I'd rather believe God doesn't exist than to believe he hates me so much," Danny answered, his voice full of pain. "Have I been a bad person, catching killers, saving lives? What have I got to show for it? Bupkes! Oh I know there are other people worse off than I am, but I'm tired of being knocked down every time I get up. In the last two years I lost my daughter when my ex moved to Hawaii and lost the rest of my family when I chose to follow Grace. I lost my chance at reconciliation with Rachel and my chance to have a second child. I lost my job. I lost my apartment. Even my dog died! Grace is the one good, pure thing in my life and now she's lying on an operating table because of a God damned freak accident!"

Danny pulled away and began pacing. He rubbed at his eyes, but his tears kept flowing. His friends' concern had unfrozen his emotions again. Images of his injured daughter played across his memory like a horror movie. He wiped at his face repeatedly, but couldn't stop the tears.

"If this is God's love, you can have it. No good is going to come out of Grace being hurt," he shouted. "I saw her hit by a car, and I couldn't help her. She was lying on the ground unconscious, and I couldn't help her! Now she's on the operating table, and I CAN'T HELP HER!"

He staggered and Steve leaped to support him. Danny bunched his fists and Steve braced himself for blows that he wouldn't try to avoid, but, instead, Danny caught fistfuls of Steve's T-shirt, gripping tightly as if clinging to a lifeline.

"I can't help her, Steve," he said hoarsely, agony in his blue eyes. "I can't even pray for her."

Danny was shaking like a man with a fever. Steve wondered with shame why he hadn't noticed how desperately unhappy his friend had become. Danny had never been a happy person as long as Steve had known him. The detective had been the first to say so. But since joining Five-0 he'd seen his brother become a fugitive and had the chance of regaining his family snatched away. Steve's own heedless actions had temporarily cost his friend his job and contributed to his stress, and now Grace's accident had shattered him.

Steve wrapped his arms around his friend, enveloping him in love the way he'd seen Danny envelope Grace. "You're not alone, Danny."

Kono stood up and embraced the two men. "We'll pray for Grace if you can't, Danny," she said in sympathy. "We've been praying all along."

Chin wrapped his arms around them, surrounding Danny with their love. He nodded agreement with Kono. "It doesn't matter if you speak to God. He hears your heart. He knows how much you love your daughter."

"Thousands of people are praying for her. You know that," Jan said. "Strangers who heard about it on the news are praying for the children, strangers who believe in the power of prayer. Whatever you believe, Danny, Grace is not alone in there."

Danny gulped down his tears and nodded. There was something reassuring about Jan's belief, even if he couldn't agree.

"And you're not alone here," Steve said in his friend's ear.

Five-0 stood together and slowly Danny's shaking subsided. He said he only believed in what he could hear and see, but that wasn't true. He believed in justice and in helping others. He believed in love. A person might say that Danny Williams was a man without faith, but that wasn't true, either, because he had faith in his friends. He stood by them when they needed him. They stood by him when he was afraid and when he was angry and even when he was a jerk. They loved him even when he disrespected their home and their culture. Faith, hope and love — Danny couldn't get away from them, and hope was what he needed right now.

Danny took a deep breath, wiped his eyes and pulled away, giving each of his friends a pat on the arm or a squeeze on the shoulder, as he stood again firmly on his own two feet.

"You said people make up stuff to make themselves feel better," Jan teased mildly, thinking Danny needed a break from strong emotions. "Do you feel better?"

"A little," Danny admitted. "More calm, more in control, but I won't feel all right until I know about Grace."

"She's going to be OK, Danny," Steve said bracingly.

"Yes, she's going to be OK," a new voice said from the door.

Jan had seen Grace's surgeon coming and knew from his jaunty stride and pleased smile that the operation had gone well. She had gestured him into her office.

"This is Dr. Fujita. He was the one operating on Grace," the minister told Danny, then turned to the surgeon. "This is Grace's father, Detective Williams."

"She's OK?" Danny said hopefully.

"She will be — barring complications," he added, just in case. "She has a moderate concussion, no sign of a skull fracture. We set the arm and operated to repair lacerations to her liver and spleen. Everything went well and she's already starting to wake up. We're trying to reassure her, but she's scared and confused and asking for her mommy and Danno."

"Her mom's in Denver," Steve said, when Danny seemed unable to speak. "But Danno's right here." He gave his friend a small push forward. "Go see your daughter." As Danny started out in haste, Steve yelled after him, "But wash your face first. You'll scare her."

He watched Danny duck into a restroom to splash water on his tear-stained face, then the commander held out his hand to the chaplain. "Mahalo for everything."

"I didn't do much. Just helped take his mind off," Jan answered. "And I enjoyed the debate."

"If there's anything Five-0 can ever do for you, let us know," Steve offered, as Chin and Kono filed out the door.

"Thank you, but, ah, considering our professions, I hope we never need each other's services again," Jan said.

Steve smiled and answered, "Amen."

* * *

><p>The following Monday, Jan Matheson was feeling uplifted. On Sunday, she had been invited to a nearby church as a guest preacher. She enjoyed her work as a counselor, but it was nice to revitalize her preaching skills once in awhile. The congregation had been so receptive, so positive about her work as a chaplain.<p>

A knock on her open door interrupted her reverie.

"Can we come in?" Danny Williams asked.

When she answered in the affirmative, he wheeled in a 9-year-old girl with her arm in a cast. The youngster looked pale, but was smiling.

"You must be Grace," Jan said. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," the girl said stoutly.

"No, no, no. Don't give a McGarrett answer," Danny scolded fondly.

Grace giggled. "My arm aches and my side hurts, but it's not bad, Danno, really."

"And your head?"

"Just a little headache." She crossed her heart to prove she was telling the truth.

"I guess the doctors agree, because they say she can go home this afternoon," Danny admitted. "And since they finally cleared the roads in Denver, her Mom will be home tomorrow."

"And I can go back to school next week," Grace said cheerfully.

Danny couldn't believe she didn't have nightmares about school, but she had been looking at him at the time of the accident. She never saw the car coming. She didn't remember anything between standing on the corner and waking up in the hospital.

"She's bouncing back faster than I am," Danny told the minister. "I'm the one having nightmares."

Grace patted her father's arm. "I'm OK, Danno."

Danny smiled at her concern. "Danno loves you, monkey."

"Love you more," the girl countered.

"We've got to get back," Danny told Jan. "Grace just wanted to meet you."

"Thank you for taking care of Danno when he was scared," the girl said.

"You're welcome, Grace. Any you, too, Danny," Jan answered.

"Yeah, about that," Danny pulled a check out of his pocket and handed it to Jan. It was made out for $1,000 — a lot of money for the Five-0 detective, Jan guessed — but the "pay to the order of" line was left blank.

"Use it to help someone else," Danny said. "You know, 'pay it forward.' I figured you'd know someone who needed help, a family, an organization, several groups — whatever."

"You're trusting me with a blank check?" Jan teased.

Danny shrugged. "Hey, if you think you need the money most, go for it. I may not have a lot of faith in religion, but I'm a good judge of character."

"Then thank you for having faith in me."

As Danny wheeled Grace away, Jan glanced again at the check and this time noticed the note on the memo line. "People helping people, that's what I have faith in," it read. She chuckled. Jan remembered Steve saying that Danny wasn't a spiritual man, but he was a good man.

Who says good isn't good enough?

**The End**


End file.
